


The Great Game

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case begins- but ends much more differently than Sherlock could ever have predicted</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Solar System

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is my first Johnlock  
> so hopefully it'll get better as I keep writing

-Sherly’s point of view- 

 

John jumped as shots rang out from upstairs. Bursting through the door and past  a flustered Mrs Hudson, he ran up the stairs, glad his limp was long gone. The sight of Sherlock wrapped in his silk dressing gown, lounging in his chair, greeted him as he walked through the door.

“What the… _hell_ are you doing?”

“...Bored..” Sherlock muttered, hiding a smile at John’s approaching figure, noticing the quick glance of appraisal of the situation. _He’s an_ _Army man, through and through. Loyal, caring, protective, even- he thought I was getting shot, judging by the tension in his neck._

John sighed, relaxing slightly. “What?!”

“Bored!

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock stood up, still pointing the gun at the wall.

“No, sto-”

“Bored, bored!” Sherlock cried out as he shot the wall twice more before turning back to John and handing him the gun. “Don’t know what’s going through the criminal classes… Good job I’m not one of them.”

“So you take it out on the wall?” John asked exasperatedly.

“Eh, the wall had it coming.”  _It didn't have the right amount of gypsum in it anyhow._

John frowned, pursing his thin lips. “What about that Russian case?”

“Belarus. Open  then shot, domestic murder, _not_ worth my time.”

“Ah, shame.” John walked into the kitchen, his hackles rising as he looked at the mess on the kitchen table before walked apprehensively to the fridge. Something always surprised him when he rustled through it, and he doubted it would be anything good. Such as jam.

“Anything in? I’m starving.” He shuddered as he opened the door to a pale, severed, head. Aw, fu-“He muttered under his breath, his temper starting to rise. “It’s a head. A severed head.”

“Just tea for me thanks.” _He isn’t shouting yet?_

“There’s a head in the fridge.”

“Yes?”   _At least it’s not Andersen’s. Or Mycroft’s._

“A bloody head.” Sherlock winced at his tone, glad they were separated by a wall. _He’ll be shouting soon._

“Where else was I supposed to put it? In my-“

John sighed again, heading back to his chair. Sherlock noted the tension in his broad shoulders., his glance lingering on the muscles hiding beneath the jumper. _He’s had a bad day already. Damn. 80% prediction that I’ll push him over the edge unwittingly and make him shout. 100% if I try. Let’s not try, shall we? He isn’t Mycroft._

“Got it from Bart’s morgue. I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.” Sherlock paused, turning over on the sofa to face John, admiring his curving jaw line. “See you’ve written up the cab driver case.”

“Uh…” John cleared his throat, swallowing twice, his adam's apple going up once and stopping halfway- _he’s nervous. Why is John nervous?_ “Yes.”

“A Study in Pink?”  Sherlock said, his voice laced with faint derision.   _Only he can pull that title off._  “Nice.”

“Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone- there was a lot of pink.” _Indeed there was. Horrific shade of it to boot._  John paused before looking back at Sherlock. “Did you like it?” _Looking for approval? Must come from the army, no doubt. Looking up to a general or a leader around a hundred or so other men like you must make you vie for attention._

 “Ummm…no.” _Of course I liked it. It wasn’t badly written, as much as I’d wish it to be._ Sherlock closed his eyes, willing himself to ignore the echo of flutter in his stomach, the second since he’d read the article earlier that day- _it was been about me, and only me- and mainly, it was all good. And **John** wrote it._ _John, who came close to second to all his favourite things- who came only after The Work in his list of important things._

John’s expression grew longer. “Why not? I thought you’d be… flattered.” _I was- until you called me ignorant. You, of all people, John. “Amazing!” “Brilliant!” mean nothing if an insult brings a compliment down just as quickly._

Sherlock snorted, hating himself for the dejected look on John’s face, but not letting the other win. That just _wasn’t_ Sherlock. “Flattered. ‘Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What’s incredible though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.’” _**T**_ _ **hat** was insulting._ _John won't win at the game of insults. Not tonight._

John straightened his back, turning towards him as he detected a hint of…something... in Sherlock’s tone. “Now hang on a minute, I didn’t mean that in a-“

“Oh, you meant spectacularly ignorant in a _nice_ way.” _How else was I supposed to take it? What social protocol allows for insults without truly insulting?_ Sherlock closed his eyes once more. _An insult only hurts when it’s John. Damn, you’re getting sentimental._ “Look, it doesn’t matter to me who’s prime minister, or who’s sleeping with who-“ _Well, if John’s sleeping around, I do make a point to know-_

“Or that the earth goes around the sun.”

“Ugh, not that again. It’s not _important_.”

John fought the urge to pinch his nose. “Not impor- It’s primary school stuff. _How_ can you not know that?”

Sherlock rubbed his palms on his forehead, hiding his face for a moment. “Well, if I ever did I’ve deleted it.”

“Deleted it?”

Sherlock sat up, fully facing John for once, trying to not get lost in the warm eyes meeting his own. _No sentiments, Sherlock. You get hurt. Concentrate, explain. Explain how you work, maybe he’ll understand then_. “Listen, “ he pointed at his brain. “ _This_ is my hard drive. It only makes sense to put things in there that are useful, _really useful._ Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters, do you see?” _Useful thoughts that really shouldn’t contain **John** , but they do now._

“But it’s the _solar system.”_

Sherlock groaned, annoyed John of all people didn’t understand. _Even Anderson would be able to understand at this point._ “What does that matter?! So we go ‘round the sun, if we went around the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn’t make any _difference_. All that matters to me is The Work. Without that, my brain rots. _Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.”_ He finished snappishly, turning his back to John as he curled up on the sofa.

John swallowed his anger, biting down the sting of hurt that had arisen at Sherlock’s comments and left the room, grabbing his coat as he went.

“Where’re you going?”

“Out.” John’s tone was terse; it was _obvious_ he was annoyed, stung, “I need some air.”

Sherlock fought the urge to sigh. _Good going, Sherlock. He’s not Andersen. But he understands. He knows I miss a good case. He knows I can act like a child._

“Oh sorry love.” Mrs Hudson chuckled as she ran into john on the stairwell, not noticing his angry feautres. She entered the room, turning to Sherlock. “you two had a little domestic?”

_How does he put up with me? The others don’t. Mrs Hudson does because she sees me as her son, but John-_ Sherlock ignored her, instead stepping over the table as gracefully as a man could and turning to the window, watching John go purposefully down the street.

“Oh, it’s a bit nippy out there. He should erect himself up a bit more.”

_Erect?- oh._ Sherlock groaned inaudibly, already missing the warmth John would emanate from the seat behind him.“Look at that, Mrs Hudson.” He gestured to the window, observing John’s retreating figure. _He’s going in the direction of that…girl’s house. He wouldn’t leave me for her. He wouldn't leave the excitement of cases, the adventure they give him. He wouldn't leave. Not forever. “_ Quiet, calm, peaceful. Isn’t it hateful?” _Would he? Would a domestic lifestyle suit him after a year of chases?_

 “Oh I’m sure something’ll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder that’d cheer you up.”

_The only thing that’ll cheer me up currently, is John. And I’ve chased him away._ He kept a straight face as he said“Mmh. Can’t come too soon.”  _Lost him to a girl who isn’t even bright._ He glared in her offending direction.

“Hey!” _Mrs Hudson’s noticed the wall._ _Damn_. _Damn it all._   “What’ve you done to my bloody wall?” Smirking coldly, he turned towards her as she continued, squeaking down the stairs. “I’m putting this on your rent, young man.” _No, you won’t. You and I both know it._

_And just as he finished his line of thought- he ducked, hearing a faint whistle, the walls exploding behind him._

_\--_

 

 

 


	2. A Case?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:  
> If it doesn't make sense- the bold and italicized quotes are coming from the television :3  
> And it's John's point of view until the page break.

_The dick head really is stubborn._

John stretched his neck and shoulders, groaning as his stiff muscles replied in kind.

“Morning.” Sarah sang as she walked in wearing a bathrobe, her slim figure finely accentuated by its soft curves.

“Ah. Mo-morning.” He rubbed his neck, wincing as he rolled it back and forth.

“I told you, you should’ve gone with the Lilo.” She sauntered towards him, turning on the television in the process.

 _I’ve had worse._   _Living in military conditions really makes you appreciate what you've got._ “N-no no, it’s fine. I slept fine, it‘s very kind of you.”  _Except dirt doesn't give you cricks._

Sarah made a noise of amusement. “Well, maybe next time I’ll let you kick at the end of my bed, you know.” She glanced at him meaningfully, lowering her lashes flirtatiously. _Next time?_

“What about the time after that?” _John, stop. The last time you suggested anything of the kind, she was in danger._

Sarah turned back to the telly, veiling her face with her hair as she avoided the question.

 ** _“Experts are haling it as the artistic find of the century. And no one-”_** The reporter’s voice rang out in the thick, growing silence, the moment of pleasantry gone.

John sighed in relief as Sarah’s voice obliterated the cloud of uneasiness between them. “So do you want some breakfast?

“I’d love some.”

“Yeah well you’d better make it yourself, because I’m going to have a shower.” She said cheekily, allowing a flash of her thigh to show as she got up from the arm of the sofa she had been leaning on.

And just like that, she sauntered off again, leaving John unsure whether to follow her or to go back to Sherlock and apologize for his outburst.

**“… _Twenty million pounds. This one is anticipated to do even better. Right, now to our main story.”_**

John cleared his throat as he stood up, somehow feeling somewhat guilty as his mind whirled with images of the attractive woman in the shower. Popping his collar, he thought it through. _Was she really suggesting I join her?_

“ ** _There has been a massive explosion in the centre of London. As of yet there are no reports of any casualties and the police are unable to say if it there was any suspicion of a terrorist involvement.”_**

John glanced at the television, his stomach dropping as he paid attention to what was being said, his eyes widening in trepidation. _An explosion? In the centre of London? Sherlock! Damn, if he’s dead-_

**_“Contact this emergency number-“_ **

“Sarah? Sarah! Sorry, I’ve got to run.” _No shower today, John._ His heart in his mouth, he was gratified to remember that Sarah’s house was a ten-minute walk away from 221 B.

 Upon arrival, he took in the sights; the building had a gaping hole, the windows blown out and marred by wooden debris. _Doesn’t look like the damage breached the insides of the building._

A throbbing crowd had gathered around with policemen pushing them back, asking for space. John sighed at the nuisance. _Can’t they let the police do their jobs? As much as Sherlock sees them as idiots-_ He grunted as he got elbowed not once-but twice- in the ribs. He addressed himself to a bald policeman who looked too harried for his own good. “ _Excuse_ me. Can I get through?” Flashing his ID, he was ushered through to the door. Fumbling for his keys, he was surprised to find his hands trembling; that hadn’t happened for ages, not since he’d met Sherlock.  Opening the door, he rushed up the stairs, driving away the memory of running up them the night before in response to Sherlock’s antics- how he’d left him alone, without apology, and if he was dead- _Stop. Stop it, John- he’s fine. He’s Sherlock. Of all people, he’d be alive. You don’t know if there were any casualties._

“Sherlock! Sherlock.” He stomped up the stairs, skipping two as he frantically listened for a sound other than those reverberating from the ruckus outside. He stepped through the threshold, huffing from the sudden exercise, on the verge of panic.

**“John.”**

Sherlock’s baritone voice coaxed him, soothing John’s worries as he glanced up from the twang of the violin, giving him the ghost of a smile, his green eyes giving away nothing. He had changed out of his pyjamas, into a suit no less. John raised his eyebrows in surprise-he was even wearing his silk shirt- until he realised they weren’t alone. The foreboding aura of Mycroft hit him as he looked away from Sherlock’s impassive expression. _Of course he’s here. ‘Worried’, wasn’t that what he’d said when we first met?_

“Are you alright? I saw it on the telly- are you okay?”

He ignored Mycroft’s hitch of an eyebrow at the slight tremor in his hand; he really couldn’t stand the man right now- even if he _was_ their saving grace.

* * *

 

“Are you alright? I saw it on the telly- are you okay?”

 “Me?” _I’m Sherlock. Of course I’m fine. “_ What-“

_A tremor in both his hand and his voice- John is worried. Worried about me, specifically, seeing as his focus is on me, but why- the explosion, of course._

Sherlock shrugged away his thoughts, turning back to the cold presence his brother, who was undoubtedly drawing conclusions from John’s state as well.  “Fine. Gas leak, apparently.” _If one were to believe that; it would have affected the entire building had it been one, not our floor and the one above specifically. I’m glad you weren’t here-_ he hated admitting it, he hated even worse that he was the reason John had left- but he wasn’t hurt, and that was the main part. _Don’t give either of them a clue of how you feel about this affair, Sherlock, Mycroft thinks enough of it without me understanding why I suddenly feel all this…sentiment for… John. It’s not unusual, I suppose, since he’s been the first to care about me as a friend, but this is something else- delete, delete, delete that train of thought. Think about it later. Focus. Mycroft. Case._

“I can’t.”

“Can’t?” Mycroft’s expression was doubtful as he tapped the top of his umbrella, carefully observing Sherlock’s facial expressions.

“I can’t spare the time.”  _You watch my every step, of course you know I have time._

“Yes, never mind your usual trivia, this is of national importance.” _Usual trivia. Pff._

Sherlock twanged his violin as if to make a point before spitefully continuing. “How’s the diet?”

“Fine.” Mycroft drawled, his eyes narrowed at the remark. “Perhaps you can get through to him John?”

_You are acting like a child who wants something badly and one parent said ‘no’, so you had to turn to the other._

_Don’t bring John into this._

“What?”

Sherlock smiled at John’s indignation before turning it into a grimace as Mycroft glanced back at him. _He’s_ _always one to be loyal… and the one not being drawn into a fight. Smart._

“I’m afraid my brother is being very…intransigent.”

Sherlock glared at him and half-pouted. _No, I’m not. You’re just being Mycroft._ “If you’re so keen why don’t you investigate it?”

“Oh no no no no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time, not with the Korean elections-“ He paused as both Sherlock and John looked up to meet his gaze. “well, you don’t need to know about that, do you?” He smirked as Sherlock went back to his violin, his eyes shaded. _He knows I love information, even if I delete it._ “Besides, a case like this requires a lot of…legwork.”

Ignoring his brother, Sherlock turned to John- who was wincing silently as he tried to stretch the crick in his neck _._

“I’m sorry, John- how was the Lilo?” Sherlock glanced him over once more, careful to not let his gaze linger, derision laced in his voice as he noticed – _no, observed_ \- the musty, sweet smell characteristic of the girl…Sarah. _So I was correct. But oh, how I hate being right for once._

“Sofa, It was the sofa-“ Mycroft’s voice sneered softly from in front of him, observing the dark look in his brother’s eyes.

“Hm? Oh yes, of course.”

“How- oh, never mind.” John sighed in acceptance of both brothers knowing his business without even trying.

“Sherlock’s business seems to be booming since you and he became _pals_.” Sherlock stopped his incessant twanging and gave him a glare powerful enough to make even the bravest of men quake. _Pals._ Mycroft ignored him in turn and focused on John- who’d turned rigid at the insinuation of being more than friends. “What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.”

Not wanting to be drawn into this argument, certainly not against Sherlock, he straightened his back. “I’m never bored.”

“Good, that’s good isn’t it.” _Damn you Mycroft. I know how you took that._

Sherlock fingered his violin, considering swiping Mycroft’s umbrella for being annoying… and insinuating. Thankfully enough, Mycroft got up brandishing the case papers, giving Sherlock the opportunity to swipe at him with his bow along with a look of warning. _Don’t meddle with me._

Mycroft pursed his lips and handed the papers to John.

“Andrew West, known as Westy to his friends. Civil servant, found dead on the tracks of Battedy station this morning, with his head smashed in.”

“Jumped in front of a train?”

“Seems the logical assumption.”

“But…” John glanced at Sherlock before looking back at Mycroft, waiting for a snide comment that just hadn’t appeared yet.

“But?”

“Well you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.”

Sherlock chuckled, rubbing resin on his bowas Mycroft rolled his eyes at the cracking ceiling. _So much for secrets, Mycroft dear._

“MOD is working on a new missile defence system. The Bruce Parkington program it’s called. Plans for it were on a memory stick.”

 John sniggered. “That wasn’t very clever was it?”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile at his bow; anyone making fun of Mycroft was amusing. _But this is John,_ **his** _John making fun if **his** brother in **his** defence- without even needing to be told. Maybe not all humans are boring._

Mycroft sighed. “It’s not the only copy, but it is secret- and missing.”

“Top secret?” Sherlock caught John’s glance,

“Very. We think West must’ve taken the memory stick and we can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock.” He tuned to address his brother, taking on a pleading expression. “Don’t make me order you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”  Sherlock murmured huskily, placing his violin under his slender neck. _Idiot._

“Think it over.” Mycroft paused, a caring glint in his eye as he looked meaningfully at Sherlock, before heading over to where John had sat down on the half ripped settee, observing the debris around him as opposed to the papers clinging desperately to his hands. Mycroft glanced over him for a minute, no doubt insinuating even more, and held out his hand to shake before leaving. Sherlock’s mouth downturned with a slight pang of ...something. _John accepted his handshake. Damn._ “See you very soon.” _Damn you, Mycroft._

 

John glanced at Sherlock, startled by the sudden sound of _horrific_ violin playing- it was obvious he was being malicious- and that he was chasing his brother away. John flinched and frowned at the squeaks but said nothing until Mycroft left.

 

John leant forward in his seat, their seating plan reversed from the night before, his eyes narrowing as he tried to understand _what_ was going on.

“Why’d you lie? You’ve got _nothing_ on. Not a single case, that’s why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” _You should know, you have a sibling, you have …Harriet. And as much as my brother ‘cares’ about me it’s all because of Mummy and his job. If it were me and the country, he’d choose the country._

“Oh.” John nodded, refusing to let sarcasm drip into his voice. “Nice.”

Sherlock glanced at him and back at his violin, saying nothing, his eyes dark as he refused to meet his gaze.

“Sibling rivalry, now we’re getting somewhere.”

Sherlock whipped his bow through the air as a ringtone rang out. _Lestrade? A case?_

He answered the phone, options running through his head. “Sherlock Holmes?”

John watched, a strange shiver running down his back as Sherlock tilted his head gracefully- almost like a cat with a question- satisfactorily. “Of course, how could I refuse?” It was definitely a case if he wasn’t commenting snidely.  He met John’s gaze with an answer. “Lestrade. I’ve been summoned. Coming?”

“If… you want me to?” Sherlock noted the slight hesitation in his voice,wondering what put it there. _Mycroft would get people on the flat to get it repaired, despite me refusing him. What’s John on about- ah. Last night._ Sherlock swept him with another (almost) appraising gaze- John’s back was slumped, and he wasn’t bothered with the mess; it was usually like this without any help of an explosion. No, there was something else, the way he held himself- _Ah, ah. He’s worried for not apologizing. How interesting. Competition with Ms Sarah… is on._

“Of course, I’d be lost without my blogger.”

Standing up, John gave him a smile that almost made his insides melt. Almost. It was his eyes that did it; the warmth emanating from them made Sherlock realise why he kept John around. And that is how- unwittingly, unsuspectingly; Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes slowly began to fall in love with Doctor John Watson.

 

 


End file.
